Sisu
by Angelsaurus
Summary: In the middle of trying to explain "Sisu" to young Sealand, Finland is called to rescue Sweden from peril. A giftfic for Haro.


Free Talk: It isn't the next chapter of Outcast, but that is coming. Hopefully within the next week. It is well under way. This is a story I wrote for **Haro** for a Christmas exchange. I hope she doesn't mind me archiving her gift here. Thank you again for the inspiring prompt!

**Sisu**  
By Angelsaurus

Finland is humming quietly to himself an old folksong (the words of which he's long since forgotten) as he swirls a wooden spoon in smooth circles around the stewpot. He doesn't notice, however, until he hears a little throat clearing and a chime of a voice set halfway between annoyed and amused.

"Mom, you're doing it again."

He purses his lips for just a moment and doesn't turn to look at young Sealand as he answers in an all too motherly tone, "And you're calling me 'Mom' again. How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not a woman, and therefore, not a mother?"

_Or a wife_, he adds in his head. Actually, Finland doesn't mind Sealand calling him 'Mom,' but he feels he has to be firm and consistent with the wannabe nation, especially considering what an indulgent father figure Sweden is.

"Errr…" Sealand emits a sheepish mumble and Finland takes his eyes off the pot to look down at that button nose, now crinkled. Of course he knows whose influence has created the whole 'Mom' phenomenon.

"Whatever your papa… er, Sweden said he'd do for you if you keep calling me that, he's going to give it to you anyways," Finland sighs, smiling without realizing it. Yes, that Sweden is a hopeless spoiler. "So, uh, what kind of deal did he make?"

Suddenly Sealand is very animated. "Cybermegazoid!" he announces giddily, pumping his fists at his side. "Deposed king of the Transformatron Empire! He's totally the coolest and he turns into a…" His eyes fall onto Finland's bewildered expressions and his enthusiasm melts into embarrassment. "Er… it's a toy robot."

Fin has recently observed Sweden stashing a toy robot in the back of his closet and now he knows why. "So, Sealand," he says, moving on in a chipper tone to make up for any perceived sternness in his previous comments. "What brings you to my cauldron? By the way, I hope you've got an appetite for Karelian stew tonight."

"Smells good enough I guess," Sealand replies with a shrug and Finland can't help wondering if living with England has given the kid an 'as long as it's edible I'll eat it' attitude. It's obvious that dinner is not what's on his mind, so Fin waits for him to spill it.

"You don't have to be shy about it," he says.

"Well," Sealand says, sounding uncharacteristically shy. "I was wondering, Mo… er, Finland… What does Sisu mean?"

That word, hearing it fall from Sealand's young mouth with such genuine curiosity, makes Finland's heart swell. Although he has gifted the boy Tales From Moomin Valley on every appropriate occasion, this is the first time Sealand has come to him and asked about any part of Finnish culture. It is an odd mix of nationalism and maternal pride that is bubbling inside of Finland. He sets down the spoon he's been stirring with and gives Sealand his full attention.

"So you want to know about Sisu?" he asks, making a concerted effort to keep his excitement in check. That's a very important concept in my home, you know. Hmm… Where do I begin?"

Finland pauses and gives his chin a small scratch, his brow crinkling in thought. How can he explain the Finnish virtue without imbuing the young boy with hundreds of years of history? Sealand is a bit young to really get the story of the Winter War (the example Finland used when first explaining Sisu to Sweden). What would be a child-friendly way to describe it?

"Sealand, do you know what 'guts' is?" he asks.

Sealand grins. "America says that's the part of you that hurts when you eat England's cooking."

"I see…" Finland utters. He's getting the feeling that Sisu might still be a bit beyond Sealand's grasp. "Well, you know what it means to be tough and fearless? That's what guts is in this sense."

Sealand's lips form a perfect little circle as a long "Oooooh" slips out and he nods slowly. "So it's the same as being brave?"

"Kind of," Finland says carefully. "But it isn't the kind of bravery you get from a burst of adrenaline. How do I put this? Sisu is like chronic bravery more than acute bravery."

"Adrenaline? Chronic? Acute?" Sealand's nose is wrinkled up again, brow furrowed, his mouth curled down at one corner to reveal the dark gap of a freshly lost tooth. He really is just a child after all.

Not sure exactly what to say next, Finland's mind wanders back to when he had this talk with Sweden. Besides the Winter War, how had he explained it? Maybe it would be easier if he had Sweden here by his side.

"Say, I think I could talk about Sisu better with a little help from Sweden," he says in what he thinks is a very artful dodge. "Is he still outside cutting up the firewood he gathered this morning?"

The face Sealand makes would seem to indicate that he thinks Finland is crazy. "He's still out getting it," the kid says as if Finland should know that already. "Didn't you notice he's been gone all day?"

The comment spills over Fin's head like a great big bucket of ice water. How could he have missed the fact that Sweden hasn't returned? He may be independent now, but there is a bond between him and Sweden that will always remain. At least he thought there was. And this lapse in attention is particularly egregious because Sweden is a guest at his home today.

"Uh… Finland?" Sealand asks through his still scrunched nose. "You look a little freaky. You don't think something bad happened to Papa Sweden, do you?"

"I…" Finland wants to say that he doesn't, that he is sure Sweden is okay, but he can't. Sweden is tough—he's an outdoorsman like Finland—but this is not his home turf. "I don't know," Finland admits. Worry is starting to pool in his belly, but he keeps his composure; nothing good will come from panicking.

He remembers the first few months when he was living in Russia's house. Those days he would swear that he could sense what Sweden was thinking even though they were apart, but it was probably just a strange aftereffect of separation. Still, standing here in his kitchen he closes his eyes and tries to pick up the signal like he did back then.

A sudden jolt of danger floods him and his violet eyes shoot back open, causing Sealand to flinch in surprise. Without any actual evidence, Finland can just feel that Sweden is in trouble and needs immediate help.

"I'm going out to find Sweden," he says, sober voice shaking just barely. "You stay here, Sealand, and set the table for dinner.

"Can't I come with you?" the boy whines.

Finland answers him with a stern look, which he softens when he sees how much it startles Sealand. "The Finnish wilderness is no place for a child to wander," he says. Then he sets a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder for a second or two and whisks away to put on his boots and coat.

The last thing he hears before he shuts the door to his log house is one last feeble plea from Sealand. "But… but I've got Sisu, too!"

The snow is up to Finland's knees, even under the cover of trees—which means that Sealand would be buried to his hips if he'd been allowed to tag along—but his boots are watertight and lined with fur. He's seen worse weather by far, but it is still a hell of a day to get lost in the woods.

If that is even what happened to Sweden. It somehow doesn't seem that likely considering Sweden's patience and sense of direction. The bad vibe that Finland felt—is still feeling—is not specific on details.

He keeps on hiking at a grueling pace, following nothing more than a vague sense of Sweden's location. It's starting to get darker, colder. The wind is lashing fiercer.

A sudden and particularly biting gust lifts a coppery tang of blood to Finland's nostrils; it's just a trace, barely detectable through the numbing scent of snow, but it is enough for him to follow. He tracks it into a small clearing in the forest where he is immediately halted by a familiar and frightening low growl.

Wolves, three of them, are gathered in the clearing. One paces back and forth while another licks at a red stain on the densely packed snow. Finland knows the distraction of fresh blood is probably the only thing masking his own scent to them. The third wolf is looking up into the lofty branches above and Finland follows his gaze to its target, which a falling droplet indicates is also the source of the blood.

It's Sweden. He's perched tensely on a thick tree limb, cradling a badly injured arm that, despite a tourniquet made from his scarf, is dripping an unsettling amount of blood. His eyes are aimed down on the wolves so he doesn't notice Finland there. The pack must have caught Sweden by surprise—a hastily abandoned pile of firewood on the ground attests to this—and now he is trying to figure out what to do next.

_It's a good thing I found him_, Finland thinks. Not that fighting off wolves is a hobby of his, but these are Finnish wolves—a tougher lot than their Swedish cousins he firmly believes—and he is the only one who stands a chance against them. He is the only one who can rescue Sweden.

First, he needs to get Sweden's attention; this will go much more smoothly if both of them are on the same wavelength. But how can he alert Sweden to his presence without alerting the wolves as well?

The only solution that Finland can think of hinges on the assumption that the psychological connection he has with Sweden goes both ways, and there is only one way to test it. Peering at the scene from behind the trunk of an enormous tree, he focuses all of his mental energy on Sweden up in that limb; he forms his thoughts into the shape of an arrow and looses it, as if from a crossbow, over the wolves' heads.

_Look at me, Sweden. It's Finland, here to rescue you. Look behind the biggest tree._

The response is a flash of aquamarine, Sweden's eyes. Whether it is really thanks to Finland's psychic arrow or not, he has Sweden's attention now and continues to send wordless communication.

_I am going to get rid of the wolves, Sweden, but you have to trust me. Just stay where you are and stay very still, okay?_

Sweden nods in an utterly unambiguous way. There is no doubt that he got the message. Having that connection confirmed just steels Finland's resolve. He's going in.

The only weapon he needs is a felled tree branch that he pulls from half-buried in the snow; it's as thick as his arm and almost as long as he is tall, but it feels like it will handle quite nicely. He won't actually swing it until it is sure to make contact with his furry foes as making a sound too soon would likely spell disaster. It's better to do this in one quick burst.

So he bursts. Finland explodes from behind his tree and into the clearing like he is the predator rather than they. Immediately, three pairs of glowing yellow eyes are locked onto him and three mouths are curled open and slavering over menacing white teeth. Like a well-trained platoon, the trio moves quickly to surround Finland.

But he is quicker.

Finland swings the branch with his whole body, spinning in his spot, and sends the beasts flying—one, two, three—before any of them so much as touches a claw to him. More stunned than actually hurt, the wolves take just a few moments to regroup and re-launch their attack with even more ferocity.

This time Finland deals with them one by one. The first gets a knock to the skull with the butt end of the branch that makes him whimper like a pup and cower. The second gets a swift kick to the ribcage. To take out the third, Finland takes a risk and throws his weapon, turning a bludgeon into a projectile. It lands across the wolf's hackles and pins it to the snowy ground. Perfect! Finland doesn't want to kill the animals if he can avoid it, just disable them for long enough to rescue Sweden.

All of the sudden he feels something clamp down tight on his ankle like a bear trap. It's wolf number two, retaliating for that kick in the side with a vicious chomp, and although Finland's boots are too thick to be penetrated, the little points of pressure those sharp teeth create are still painful.

Without that sturdy branch, Finland has no choice but to fend off the attack with his fist. So he delivers a swift punch to the wolf's snarling nose and the vice-tight jaws release.

It seems like the pack has gotten the message now: this guy means business. They are licking their wounds and slinking away, defeated.

"Go prey on your natural diet!" Finland hollers as the last tail disappears into the forest. Then he turns his attention upwards. "You hanging in there, Sweden?"

"Th'nk I'm 'bout ready t' go home," Sweden calls back before dangling his legs off the edge of the tree limb he is on and dropping to the ground with a thud. He lands on his feet but wobbles when he tries to stand up straight, seems lightheaded.

"Whoa!" Finland exclaims as he rushes to steady him. "You've lost quite a bit of blood from that arm, Sweden. I don't think you should walk back to my house." There is a tiny blossom of warmth inside his chest when he realizes that Sweden had referred to it as 'home.'

"Not walk?" Sweden mumbles, and as he does, his features tense up into a mess of ominous shadows.

Finland cringes, out of alarm, not fear—he has known since the early days of their cohabitation that Sweden is not a mean nation, but that face still triggers a reaction after all these years. Intimidation won't make him change his stance anyway.

"I'm going to carry you," he says.

"What 'bout th' lumb'r I gather'd?" asks Sweden.

"I'll carry that, too," Finland says without missing a beat. "We don't have any time to waste. Sealand is home by himself and will start to get restless if we don't return soon. So don't try and argue with me."

The shadows melt from Sweden's face and he just blinks at Finland. It's been a while since he has seen Finland act so authoritatively.

But Finland doesn't allow Sweden the time to decide if he likes seeing this side of him or not; he quickly goes to work gathering up the scattered pieces of firewood and lashing them into a bundle with a length of cord, and then hooks his free arm around Sweden's waist and hoists him up on his shoulder with a grunt.

"Are you comfortable, Sweden?" he asks with only a slight wheeze in his voice.

Sweden doesn't respond right away and when he does it is an embarrassed-sounding mumble that gets muffled by Finland's jacket. "Nnng. I'm comfort'ble if you 're. Y' sure I'm not too heavy?"

"Not too heavy for me," Finland answers as he takes the first step with Sweden slung over his shoulder and a bundle of wood under his arm. The load is heavy, makes Finland's boots sink down even deeper in the snow, but like he said, it's not _too_ heavy.

The trek home takes place in a state of near silence; the only noises are the crunch of the snow beneath Finland's boots and the soft huffs of he emits each time he has to surmount a hill. Sweden says nothing, but Finland is acutely tuned in to the almost imperceptible sound of his breaths.

How long the trip is taking doesn't even cross Finland's mind until the sky becomes more and more orange, and then red. It has darkened to a dusky plum by the time he sees his cabin in the distance, chimney loosing an unbroken stream of gossamer smoke. Home.

"Sweden, we're home," he says quietly. If Sweden is still awake, he doesn't need a loud announcement.

"'bout time," he mutters, voice weaker than Finland recalls it being back in the clearing. "I'm gett'ng hungry."

Finland lets out a little chuckle. "Dinner is Karelian stew," he says, matter-of-factly. "But I have to get you patched up before you can eat."

He sets down the wood outside and uses the freed hand to turn the knob and push open the front door. Before he even has a chance to set Sweden on his feet, Sealand is in front of them, jumping up and down like a snow hare and waving his fists and shouting excitedly.

"Dad! Mom! You're back! What happened? Dad, you're bleeding! Mom, what happened to Dad? You gotta tell me!" He is so eager he just lets those names slip out and Finland lets it go without correction this time.

"Just a little run-in with some wolves," Finland says in a nonchalant tone that he knows probably won't help calm the boy but hopes nonetheless.

Sealand is already hooked. "Wolves? Really? How'd you get past 'em? Did you fight 'em? With a gun? With your axe?"

Finland has just eased Sweden off of his shoulder, and with the hand of his uninjured arm Sweden pats the hatchet that is secured to his belt. "Didn' use th's for 'nything but wood. Didn' have a gun. Your ma… er, Finl'nd fought off th' wolves. W'th nothing but a stick." He says this with pride evident in his anemic voice.

The micro-nation's eyes dart to Finland and go wide as saucers. "You beat up wolves with just a stick? That is so totally Sisu!" he whoops. "Oh man, I wish I coulda seen it! Si-su! Si-su!"

"That's… not exactly…" Finland's sheepish voice is quickly buried under Sealand's giddy shrieks. His face feels warm, blushing at the receipt of such a uniquely Finnish compliment, even if Sealand still doesn't have the details exactly right.

"It was tot'lly Sisu," Sweden interjects, giving the boy a fatherly pat on the head that quiets him down. "I'll tell y' more 'bout it lat'r, Sea. Why don't y' go an' get y'rself some dinn'r while F'nland fixes up m' arm."

Sealand pouts a bit overdramatically. "Fine, fine," he sighs. "But I want every single detail when you're done." And with that he pads off to the kitchen in his stocking-feet, leaving Finland and Sweden alone together.

"Alright, sit down in that chair over there and let's clean up that wound," says Finland, very simply straightforward, no nonsense. He is willing to look the other way on Sweden letting Sealand eat on his own instead of waiting to have a proper family meal, but he will not allow Sweden to get away with anything other than prompt treatment.

From the bathroom he retrieves the first aid kit, a basin of hot water, and some clean towels. Then he kneels by the seated Sweden's side, takes his outstretched arm, and gets to work.

"This is really deep," he says with concern. "Scratch or bite?"

"Scratch," Sweden answers, and the process continues in silence.

As he mops up blood from the trenches in Sweden's flesh, Finland finally says something that has been on his mind. "You know, I'm still not sure I've explained Sisu quite right to Sealand. Or to you." He tries to make it sound very casual, amused even, so that Sweden doesn't get the wrong idea and think he is actually offended. "It's not really a burst of adrenaline like when I drove off those wolves."

He pauses and Sweden winces, not from what was said but because Finland has finished cleaning the wound (staining his nice white bathroom towels pink) and has moved on to applying antibiotic ointment. Another pause.

"I know," Sweden says calmly. "I wasn' talking 'bout that part alone. It was how y' carefully made th' plan, follow'd through an' didn' give up 'r panic ev'n when that one had your foot. An' of course th' part when y' carried me on your should'r w'thout complaining. All of it t'gether was Sisu."

The explanation forces a meeting of violet and aqua as Finland's eyes lock with Sweden's. A smile he has no control over blossoms across his face. "You really do get Sisu, Sweden," he says.

Sweden's face, despite its capacity to be so fearsome, is as soft and gentle as Finland has ever seen it. "Of course I know Sisu," says Sweden. "I've known 't since b'fore y' eve'n explained it. Since th' Wint'r War. I wasn' with y', but I was always watch'ng. J'st like I watch'd y' from th' tree t'day. Y' call it Sisu, but t' me it's just th' way y' always are."

The rims of Finland's eyelids prickle, but he sniffles and stiffens his lips and keeps the joyful tears at bay. There is no reason to get all blubbery over this. So he says no more until he's finished wrapping Sweden's arm in clean gauze. "There you go, good as new. Well, not good as new. It will take a couple weeks to heal completely. But as long as you keep it clean it should barely even leave a scar."

He chuckles even though his heart is beating fast.

Sweden stands up, taking a moment to admire the fine bandaging job on his arm, and then sets his hand on Finland's shoulder. "Stew smells good. Let's go join Seal'nd b'fore he finishes eating. Make it a real fam'ly dinner."

"Yes," says Finland warmly, reaching to take the hand on his shoulder and envelop it in his own. "Let's."

the end


End file.
